


In Absentia

by AndromedaPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s), Transformer Sparklings, past mechpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:50:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There is a far bigger reason that I wish you could have delayed your departure. That reason is right here. Wheeljack, this is our daughter. Her name is Strongarm.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't expect the previous story, _[Your Sire Be Damned](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4190178)_ , to receive such a positive response, so I decided to indulge those that asked for a followup.

Stellar cycles had passed since he had laid optics on or heard anything about him.

Most of his days after his initial departure had been spent agonizing internally over when he might see the other mech’s face again, but as the parting gift he had been left with grew in size within his frame, and his mind became linked up with a fledgling soul, he found his attentions and priorities shifted elsewhere. It had been a long time since he had thought about him.

Ultra Magnus stared at the broken energon cube on the floor where he had dropped it. He knew he should pick it up, as it was not a good thing for messes to exist, but he somehow could not bring himself to pick up the shattered remains.

“Ultra Magnus?”

Ratchet’s voice sounded worried. The Autobot Commander (it was still strange to think of himself as such, as he had always deferred to Optimus and was only the Commander of the Wreckers before the revival of Cybertron) knelt down on one knee joint and swept the shattered remains into a small waste bin he carried around in his subspace compartments. He cleared his vocalizer. “Are you certain?”

“I am. It’s him.”

The waste bin combined with the shattered energon cube suddenly seemed to bear the exact same weight as that of the Forge of Solus Prime. Magnus stored it in his subspace anyway, and filed a note in his processor to dispose of it when he got the chance to do so.

“Are you ready?”

There it was. The question he did not want to hear, far more dreaded than the moment that his daughter might look up at him with questioning optics and ask why it was only her and him. Why wasn’t there a sire around, she might ask.

“I remember you told me to be ready on the day that he came back. I am not. I had not entertained the notion that he might be back this soon.”

“Ultra Magnus, it has been five stellar cycles.”

“I know. I know. What is his estimated time of arrival?”

“Approximately half a solar cycle. Since you’re not ready now, I suggest you be ready by then.”

.-.-.

Strongarm was reading a datapad for sparklings on the subject of cleanliness when he walked into her room. She looked up and put the datapad away, getting to her pedes and standing at attention.

Ultra Magnus smiled at her and nodded, a silent signal for her to be at ease. He knelt down and gently drew her into his embrace, allowing her to snuggle close to him. She may have been a miniature him, but the both of them liked some affection in some instances. Strongarm was very attached to him.

The little femme nuzzled her faceplates in his chassis, relishing the faint but comfortingly familiar pulses of the spark that had given her life. “Are you ‘kay, carrier?”

Intuitive sparkling she was, she had picked up on his emotions of apprehension and (dare he say it?) fear. He tightened his arms around her and sighed. “I will be fine, Strongarm.”

Magnus unwrapped his arms from around her and tried to get to his full height but found that his daughter had wrapped her arms around his neck and was dangling off his frame, her bright optics staring into his. He sighed and leaned back down, putting her pedes on the ground.

“You’re not fine carrier.” She tilted her helm at him inquisitively and blinked at him. “I can tell.”

As if to drive the point home, she tapped a finger over her spark. She was completely in sync with him, and he was completely in sync with her.

“You are correct. I’m not fine. But I will be, after a while.”

Strongarm wiggled her digits and stood on the tips of her pedes. “‘s there anything I can do?”

“No. But I will be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He tried to turn around, but when he tried to move his legs he found that his right one had a sudden sparkling wrapped around it. Magnus placed his servo over his optics and sighed. “Come with me then. I will leave you with Bumblebee and Smokescreen.”

Strongarm visibly brightened, and she clambered into his arms when he stretched them downward for her to get into them. She curled against him. “Do I tell you if Smokescreen breaks rules all over ‘gain?”

“Please do. He knows he needs to adhere to protocol.” He kissed the top of her helm as he headed out, youngling aboard.

.-.-.

He was nervous.

He’d never admit it to anyone, however. A Wrecker never showed emotion, especially not one that would reveal vulnerability.

Even now he thought of the one mech he had loved (did he still love him? He couldn’t decide) and the one mech that drove him up the wall with his copious amounts of rules and regulations. Funny – the mech he loved and the mech that drove him nuts were one and the same.

A voice he vaguely recognized as the medic of the Autobots told him he was clear to land, in some strip right outside of Iacon.

The sight of the city made his spark skip a pulse. It was beautiful, and he saw a previously dead Cybertron full of promising signs of life.

He had encountered many ships full of wayward Cybertronians looking for the source of the signal that had been broadcast to the stars, telling them two words: _Come home._ He’d been their guide, telling them where to go, by what star they should turn to the left and to the right, and go straight on until they saw the familiar shape of their homeworld in the distance.

Slowly the amount of ships he encountered in the stars had trickled down until there were almost no more. It was then that he decided it was time to turn around and heed those two words.

The speaker aboard the ship buzzed with static before a voice came through. “Be careful Jackie, you’ll scratch the runway if you don’t land soft.”

Wheeljack threw his helm back and laughed. “Bulkhead! Great to hear your voice again.”

Bulkhead’s chuckle permeated the cabin. “Same thing to you.”

“How’ve things been?”

“Same old since you left, y’know. Except for the buildings that have sprung up. Those didn’t build themselves overnight.”

“I figured.” Wheeljack looked outside the window and saw the runway far below him. He pulled the _Jackhammer_ over and began the landing procedure, making the ship jolt. “How’s Arcee and Bee and the rest of your gang?”

“They’re all fine. Smokescreen and Bee are startin’ to work their way up in Praxus and Iacon’s police!”

“Did they ever get together?”

“They did-”

“Knew there was somethin’ there with those two.”

“-but they broke up.”

“Knew it’d never work out.” The runway was coming closer and closer to his ship. He closed his optics a moment and then reopened them. In that moment the runway was almost immediately meeting his ship. “And… how’s…”

If one wanted a sign that he and Bulkhead truly were best friends, the green mech sighed over the communication link. “If you’re asking about Magnus, he’s fine. You and he will need to have a long talk.”

Wheeljack knew what to expect, that he would be told that he and Magnus would need to talk, but the thought of it still sent a sinking feeling into his spark.

The _Jackhammer_ landed on the runway and Wheeljack stepped off the ship, rolling his shoulder struts and blinking his optics at the large buildings of Iacon looming in the distance. There weren’t as many as there had been before the onset of the war, but just the sight comforted him.

A large bulky green mech and a small blue femme waited for him, along with a white and orange-plated mech.

Bulkhead ran up to him and lifted him up in a crushing hug, and Wheeljack laughed and squirmed in his longtime pal’s embrace. “Bulk!”

“Jackie!”

Both mechs laughed in unison and Bulkhead did an awkward twirl on his pedes before he let him back down. The white-armored mech straightened himself up and said, “You don’t look anything different.”

“Hah! Neither do you!” Bulkhead playfully jabbed his elbow joint in Wheeljack’s side and grinned brightly. “Forgot to ask you: how was space?”

“Dark, dull, unending, forever expanding.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Not when it’s just you with your thoughts.”

“I was being sarcastic, Jackie.”

“I know, but I was just sayin’.” The white-armored mech looked at Arcee and Ratchet and grinned brightly at them. “Nice seein’ more than one familiar face ‘round here. Hey there ‘cee, and sunshine,” he winked and clicked his glossa at Ratchet playfully, making the medic groan and mutter something that sounded like a threat to reformat him into a scanning wand.

“And nice seeing you back here, Wheeljack,” Arcee smiled at him, nodding her helm. “You really did help a lot of bots come back home. We heard your name tossed around quite a lot. Thank you.”

“Yeah, all in a life cycle’s work,” Wheeljack replied, shifting his weight onto one pede and reaching his arm around to rub at the back of his neck. “So… where’s…”

He couldn’t seem to bring himself to say the name. He looked down at the ground between his pedes.

“Magnus?” Arcee asked the question for him. She crossed her arms over her chassis. “He’s probably on his way right about now. You and him need to talk.”

“Yeah, we do.” Second bot to tell him so. Wheeljack felt his trepidation rise.

As if Primus answered some prayer he was unaware he prayed, he caught sight of a door in one of the nearby buildings sliding open and a familiar silhouette making its way over to the _Jackhammer_ and the gathered group.

His spark pounded against its casing, and looking at the figure coming towards him didn’t do his spark any favors. He cleared his vocalizer and straightened his posture, turning his entire frame to face the other mech.

Magnus hadn’t changed. He was still as striking (a far more apt description than if Wheeljack had called him “beautiful”) as he had been the last time he had seen him, all those stellar cycles ago. Those intensely blue optics stared into his, and again Wheeljack felt that slightly withering sensation as if the tall, blue and red mech were able to read his very thoughts.

But he welcomed that sensation from Ultra Magnus.

Magnus stopped a few steps away from him and nodded at the three other Cybertronians. “Was his ship the only incoming ship of the cycle?”

Ratchet made a noise of confirmation. He looked at Wheeljack, and the Wrecker saw something in the medic’s optics that made him feel that something awaited him.

“Good. Wheeljack,” Magnus finally directly acknowledged the white-armored Wrecker, nodding at him. “Come with me.”

Wheeljack didn’t say anything. He only braced himself mentally for whatever it might be that would come, be it a verbal altercation or Magnus telling him in a soft voice that he was disappointed that he’d taken so long to come back, and followed the taller mech into the nearest building to the landing pad.

Their walk through the corridors of the building was silent and tense, though the white-armored mech couldn’t discern whether the tension was of a good or a bad kind.

Both of them walked into a large room with a desk and seats in the center, and he realized that Magnus had an office.

He’d been around Earth long enough to know that there were a lot of humans that had a thing for interfacing in an office, and he had to quash the dirty thoughts that invaded his processor. There was no guarantee that Magnus would even so much as look in his general direction after this was done.

“I must thank you, Wheeljack.”

“Oh? What for?”

Magnus gave him a pointed look and Wheeljack realized what it was that Ultra Magnus was referring to. “Oh… ‘s all in a life cycle’s work. Happy to help.”

The taller mech said nothing else as he went around the desk and seated himself behind it, sighing heavily and running his digits over the pile of datapads on the right side of the desk’s surface. He stopped and instead tapped his digits on the screen of the first pad, not looking at Wheeljack as he softly said, “Take a seat.”

From where he sat he could almost hear Wheeljack’s spark pulsing hard. He watched out of the corner of his optics as the white-armored mech did as he had commanded before he turned away from the stack of datapads. He raised his gaze to Wheeljack’s optics, and he realized that he’d forgotten how beautiful those optics were.

It seemed as if time were suspended for a few kliks before Wheeljack cleared his vocalizer. “I know I left before I even told you.”

“You did.” He didn’t miss how the blue mech’s voice cracked on the second word. “But why did you leave on such short notice?”

Truthfully, Wheeljack had only a very faint idea as to why he decided to suddenly get up and leave Cybertron, leave his friends behind, and leave this mech in the dust, both of them wondering where to go from where they had left off. His abrupt departure had definitely taken the both of them back to square one, where there would be nothing going on between them. Looking down at his knee joints, Wheeljack spoke to them instead: “I got restless bein’ here. Don’t know why, but I thought the best way to deal with it was to leave and occupy myself.”

“You were occupied here.”

“I was but I missed flyin’ Mags. I thought I should get it out of my systems, and also help any other stranded or lost Cybertronians make their way back here.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Ultra Magnus’s faceplates still held their stoic countenance but his optics told a different story, and it almost unnerved Wheeljack at how emotional the other mech could get. He wasn’t used to it, and hadn’t given himself the time to get used to it before he left.

Wheeljack sighed and looked up, meeting Ultra Magnus’s optics. “I thought it would have been better for us. No long goodbyes or anythin’.”

“Wheeljack…”

The white-armored mech tilted his helm at the blue mech inquisitively, arching an optic ridge. Something was hanging off the tip of Magnus’s glossa, but he either couldn’t say it, or decided he wouldn’t say it. “What?’

Magnus looked at the desk and his servos laid on them, digits curled inward toward his palms.

“I wish you would have waited a solar cycle or two before you left, all those stellar cycles prior.”

A cocky grin found its way onto Wheeljack’s faceplates, and Magnus had to resist the urge to order him to cut it out. “Huh. I guess I was really good in the berth then, if you wanted another night.”

“While it was… _very_ pleasant, Wheeljack, that was not my point.”

“Then what-”

The door behind Wheeljack opened, and he turned around to see a familiar yellow bot in the doorway carrying something small in his arms that was squirming.

“Ultra Magnus, sir, she’s running circles around me and Smokescreen and won’t let us get our… oh.”

Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus saw Bumblebee’s optics widen in horror. The squirming thing that Bumblebee had held in his arms wrenched itself free and bolted across the floor, darting behind the desk. The little thing was so quick that Wheeljack barely had a moment to decipher what it was, except that it sure looked a lot like a sparkling.

Magnus got off the chair and stood to his full height, making a noise of exasperation and nodding at Bumblebee. “You are dismissed, soldier. Back to your workstation. I will take over from here.”

The yellow mech hastily bowed and ran off, and Magnus held back an amused chuckle at the way Bumblebee’s doorwings bounced up and down on their joints that connected to his back. He looked down at the tiny frame attached to his lower leg.

Wheeljack was now standing up and leaning over the desk. Ultra Magnus looked up and met the wide, shocked optics of the white-armored Wrecker, who was staring down at the little frame that had her arms wrapped tightly around her carrier’s leg. His mouth opened, as if to try and say something, but then Wheeljack quickly closed it as he stared at the little form.

“Wheeljack,” he placed a servo on Strongarm’s helm, giving her a gentle caress. She buried her faceplates into his armor. He took a deep breath and exvented before continuing “There is a far bigger reason that I wish you could have delayed your departure. That reason is right here.”

Feeling the white-plated mech’s intensely blue optics boring into him, Magnus cleared his vocalizer, which attracted the little femme’s attention as she peeked up from where she’d buried her faceplates. “Wheeljack, this is our daughter. Her name is Strongarm.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I hate him.”

Ratchet looked up at the youngling that had spoken those three words. She was perched on a chair in a corner of the medbay while he did inventory on his medical supplies, little servos on her knees as she stared at them.

“Hate is a strong word for a youngling like yourself, Strongarm. Who do you hate?”

Strongarm looked up and met the medic’s optics. Her face darkened slightly and she removed her servos from her knees, crossing her arms over her chassis. “I hate the mech that made carrier sad.”

The medic was puzzled. When Ultra Magnus had come into the office to drop off his daughter, the Autobot Commander seemed perfectly fine and in control of his emotions. He’d given his daughter over to the medic without much word, except to say that he would be extremely busy and needed Strongarm to be taken care of for the next cycle or so.

And he had a suspicion.

“What mech made your carrier sad, as you put it?” Ratchet still couldn’t wrap his processor around the idea that Ultra Magnus could be visibly sad. There were only two instances where he had ever seen the other mech distressed: the expression on the blue and red mech’s faceplates when Ratchet had confirmed that he was indeed sparked, and the expression on Magnus’s faceplates when Strongarm had been born.

He remembered Magnus lying in the berth, newly sparked Strongarm sleeping on his chassis with his arms wound around his new daughter, and the distraught tone in Magnus’s voice and optics as he looked up at the medic and said, “ _He wasn’t here. He didn’t see her. He won’t have the opportunity to know her.”_

Strongarm pursed her lipplates. “I don’t know. He was really white and had some red and green. And he had fins like me.” She reached up and tugged at one of her helm fins as if to emphasize the size of his.

Of course. Wheeljack. He was the last mech that they had seen with Ultra Magnus, after all.

Perhaps he really would reformat the Wrecker into a scanning wand. At least if that happened, he would be useful for something other than siring sparklings, saving mechs, and making his oldest friend (after Optimus Prime, his spark sank at the thought) upset twice.

Ratchet sighed and continued taking inventory of his equipment. “I am certain your carrier will be fine, young Strongarm.”

The femme swung her legs in her seat and leaned forward. “I hope so. I don’t like carrier being sad.”

.-.-.

When he removed his servos from his optics, Ultra Magnus found that they had taken on a very shiny hue due to the optical fluid he’d shed. His intakes shuddered as he exvented heavily, trying to steady his inhalation and exhalation rate.

He had hoped the ultimate reveal would have gone much, much better than how it wound up unfolding. He should have told Bumblebee and Smokescreen to not enter his office or go anywhere near it while they had Strongarm with them, not until he gave them a signal to do so.

To say that Wheeljack had not taken the news well would be severely understating it.

The white-armored Wrecker had a look in his optics that denoted fear, shame, and then suddenly anger came into them. He had given Ultra Magnus a glare, pretty blue optics darkening to a shade that he had not seen before. Suddenly Wheeljack had leapt to his pedes, told him that he didn’t believe him, and sped out of the building and in the opposite direction of the _Jackhammer._

Magnus had no idea what to do next, other than contact the other mech. Truthfully, he didn’t want to speak to Wheeljack. Ever. Again.

Thankfully Strongarm didn’t seem to be affected by the incident. She clung to him throughout it all, paying no attention to the strange mech on the other side of the desk. He was grateful that he dropped her off with Ratchet. The very last thing he wanted was for her to see him in his current emotional state.

She was young, but she was already protective of him, ready to fight anyone who made him angry or distressed and any other negative emotion.

He leaned back in his seat and stared straight ahead at the door leading into his office, half-expecting, half-wishing that Wheeljack would waltz back in with an apology and begging to get to know their daughter.

He thought of actually going through and contacting Wheeljack to demand some sort of an explanation. Why did he take off in such a sudden manner?

…and why did he tell him that he didn’t believe him? What exactly was it that Wheeljack didn’t believe?

That they had a daughter? That he’d kept it a secret, so to speak, from him?

If the answer was that Wheeljack didn’t believe Strongarm was his own daughter, that he had sired her, Magnus would shove his favorite datapad up the Wrecker’s tailpipe.

She was the perfect mix of both of them, and if Wheeljack would only spend five kliks around her, he would know for certain that the little white and blue-colored femme was his daughter.

He would wait a solar cycle to contact the other mech, he told himself. Then a nanoklik later, he told himself that that was far too long. Perhaps a few cycles would suffice.

Before he could stop himself, he was already preparing to call the white-armored mech over his communication link. He hoped that Wheeljack’s com link identification number was still the same after all these stellar cycles. Moreover, he hoped that it would actually _work_.

However, when it was all said and done and the call was ready to be made, Magnus stopped and stared at the door again. His processor told him to stop and to wait. His spark told him otherwise.

He was always one to follow his processor, as it was far more logical than his spark more often than not.

But his spark…

Eventually the emotions in his spark overrode the orders from his processor. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was going to greet the Wrecker with-

-only to be interrupted by an incoming call.

Speak of Unicron…

Wheeljack’s communication number flashed in his visual field, insistently, urgently. Magnus grit his dentae and brought the walls up around his spark, telling himself to let Wheeljack crack and show _his_ emotions first. Then he answered.

The sound that met him from the other end of the communication link was one of wind rushing against something. He imagined Wheeljack in his vehicular mode, racing around the wilderness of Cybertron. There was no other sound for a long while, until the wind stopped and sound ceased for a moment.

Magnus took the opportunity. ::You said that you didn’t believe me. What exactly is it that you don’t believe, Wheeljack?::

::Why didn’t you tell me?::

::What do you mean by “why didn’t” I tell you? What are you referring to?::

Wheeljack snorted in frustration. ::What do you think, Mags? Why didn’t you tell me ‘fore I left that we were havin’ a sparklin’?::

Ultra Magnus stiffened at the accusation, curling his servos into fists and laying them on the table. ::I thought I made it clear that at the time you left, I had no knowledge that I was sparked. There was no possible way that I could have informed you of your impending creator-hood::

::No you didn’t. Only said that you wished I’d put off leavin’ Cybertron::

Magnus thought back to the words he had told the white-armored mech, and realized that Wheeljack had been correct. He had not specified that he had discovered that he was carrying until after Wheeljack’s departure. Holding his helm in his servos and sighing, he replied ::You are correct. But, I didn’t discover that I was sparked until a solar cycle after you’d left Cybertron. How could I have communicated such a fact to you then?::

::Did trying a comm link ever cross that rules and regs obsessed processor of yours?::

Magnus thought back to the crushing defeat and loneliness that seized his spark when he had tried to get into contact with Wheeljack, the solar cycle after he’d made that shattering discovery. He remembered sitting at the console, Ratchet and the leftover members of Team Prime at his back, his helm bowed as he stifled his sobs.

Ratchet had told him later that while there were no audible sounds of distress, the slouched posture and shaking shoulder struts told them all they needed to know.

::I did:: There it was – his voice cracked. _Frag it all to the Pit,_ he thought bitterly, his willpower waning. ::I did, Wheeljack. The solar cycle after Ratchet confirmed that I was sparked, I did my best to contact you. For cycles, for _half_ that solar cycle I tried to contact you, but you did not answer. I could only continue to attempt to contact you for so long before I decided that it was all in vain::

There was a long, heavy silence.

::‘m sorry::

::I’m assuming that your ship was very far out of range, as you were only able to contact Ratchet half a solar cycle from your ship landi-::

::No, Mags, I… Primus frag it:: he heard the other mech mutter on his end of the communication link. ::Mags, I remember now. I remember seeing those communication pings two solar cycles after I left::

Hurt. Magnus was… _hurt._ There was no other term for it. He steadied his tone of voice, keeping his emotions in check this time, before asking in a soft manner ::If my attempts to communicate with you reached your ship, then why didn’t you answer to them?::

::Remember I said that I thought it’d be best for us to just go apart? No long goodbyes? I thought that was what you wanted to do. Thought you wanted to say a long goodbye. I didn’t want to hear your voice, otherwise I’d have turned the _Jackhammer_ back around and gone back to Cybertron. Primus, frag, Pit. I regret a lot of things in my life Mags, but… now I know what I’m gonna regret the most::

The blue and red mech had a faint idea what it was that Wheeljack meant that he’d regret. But he wanted to be absolutely certain. ::What are you going to regret the most?::

::Pit Mags, you really don’t read others well, do you?::

::I like to believe I’ve gotten far better at reading others since I became a creator, but apparently I have not. I also do not like to announce my assumptions unless I am one hundred percent certain::

There was a sigh from the other end of the link. A chuckle followed it. ::The one thing I’m going to regret the most is not answerin’ your comm pings. ‘cause if I did I would’ve come back and been with you. You wouldn’t have had to be alone:: Wheeljack stopped a bit, and suddenly Magnus heard the wind start again.

In his spark he hoped that Wheeljack was heading back to Iacon. To him and to Strongarm.

::And you would have gotten the chance to know her and be here for her:: he said softly, more to himself than to Wheeljack.

The other mech’s voice responded in an equally quiet tone ::Yeah. I would’ve been here with you and her both::

Magnus heard the pitter-patter of tiny pedes running down the hallway, undoubtedly his daughter seeking his office out again. He shook his helm and made a mental note to have a stern discussion with her about her tendencies to run away from her caretakers and seek him out. ::I also do not appreciate how you acted in front of our daughter, running out and taking on an accusatory tone, telling me that you were incapable of believing me::

::Well I don’t think I can be blamed much, Mags. Did just have a huge, processor-shattering fact dumped on me, that I’ve had a sparklin’ for the past five stellar cycles that I didn’t get to know ‘bout::

::It was highly unprofessional. And, I would have appreciated a little more specification when you said that you didn’t believe me. I was under the impression you meant that you didn’t believe that you were a sire::

::Like I thought you’d gone off and had a sparklin’ with some other bot?::

::Exactly::

Wheeljack laughed. ::Almost didn’t believe it. She’s too cute to be mine. But it’s kinda obvious that she is. You don't have those helm fins she's got::

Magnus felt his spark soar at the complement. He didn’t go around saying it, because frankly it was unprofessional of him to do so, but yes. The daughter he had created and carried, that he raised, was very beautiful and… cute, as Wheeljack had said.

::So, Mags… where do we go from here?::

There was the pounding of little fists at his office door, which in reality did not sound very loud as Strongarm was still such a tiny sparkling. The Autobot Commander got up from his seat and walked over to the door. ::As of now, the priority is getting Strongarm accustomed to you. After that… after she has had a chance to know you as her sire, we will have that discussion::

Wheeljack sighed. ::Alright::


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m very sorry, Ultra Magnus. I have no idea how she managed to flee so quickly. She is quite the escape artist.”

Magnus looked down at the little femme that wrapped herself around his leg and sighed quietly. “Indeed she is. You are not at fault, doctor.”

“I am.” Ratchet reached his arm over his shoulder and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I should have kept a better and more watchful optic on her.”

“Carrier,” a small voice came from the little frame. Blue optics looked up at him. “I worried about you, carrier. Are you okay?”

“I am fine, Strongarm. You and I,” he leaned down and gently detached her from his leg, giving her that one look that made her nod and stand at attention, “need to discuss your tendencies to venture away from your caretakers to seek me out.”

A guilty look crossed the femme’s faceplates. “I was really worried about you. The mech made you sad and I wanted to be here for you.”

Of course. He had forgotten how emotionally sensitive the youngling was to him. He shook his helm. “That does not excuse your misbehavior. You know that you are supposed to obey those that I place in charge of you. If you had gotten away from Ratchet and were unable to find me, you might have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t hurt, carrier!”

“But what if you had been?”

Strongarm opened her mouth as if to retort, but she had nothing else to say to that. She joined her servos behind her back and looked at the ground.

“I am not mad, Strongarm. I am only disappointed in you. But I am glad that you did not go missing or otherwise sustain injury. Now,” he gently turned her around to face the white and orange-plated medic, “apologize to Ratchet for getting away from him and worrying him.”

“Sorry, Ratchet.”

The medic looked awkwardly at the youngling but he still gave a soft nod. “Just as your carrier said, I am disappointed that you got away from me. I shall have to keep a closer watch on you next time.”

Strongarm nodded to show that she understood. Ultra Magnus took one of her servos in his and looked at the medic. “I will be unavailable for some time, Ratchet. I will need you to note any messages I may receive from anyone.”

“Of course, Ultra Magnus.”

The medic walked off, leaving carrier and youngling alone. Magnus turned around and began walking slowly so his daughter could keep up with him. They passed by his office and went through one of the exits, coming into the city of Iacon.

With each passing day it seemed the city, and Cybertron as a whole, became busier and busier. It was a welcoming sign to see so many Cybertronians finding their way back home, but if Magnus were to be honest he rather had liked the first few decacycles after Team Prime’s return, when Cybertron was quiet.

He could have lived without the barren part, however.

Mechs and femmes passed by him in the walkways but not without cooing at Strongarm. She didn’t like the attention, but it had been explained to her that she was one of only a small number of younglings in a still-repopulating species at the moment, so the attention was to be expected.

“What are you thinking about, Strongarm?”

The femme looked up at him, optics bright and curious. “I’m not thinking about anything carrier.”

“Just as you are able to tell my emotions, I am able to tell yours. You are conflicted about something.”

“Conflicted?”

“It means you are thinking of saying or doing something but you are not sure if you should.”

“Oh. Well… I wanted to ask you carrier… who was that mech?”

“Do you mean-”

“The one that made you sad.”

“I wasn’t “sad” as you put it, Strongarm. But, he is someone I knew from a long time back.”

“‘fore I was sparked?”

“Yes. I knew him before I was sparked.”

“What’s his name?”

“His name is Wheeljack.”

_And he is your sire, whom I had long thought might never return._

“Wheel…jack?”

“Yes. Wheeljack.”

“What did he want with you, carrier?”

“I was the one that wanted to speak with him, Strongarm. He did not want anything with me.”

“Oh. What did you want to talk to him about, carrier?”

Magnus thought over in his processor how it would be best to approach the subject of Wheeljack with his daughter. For all he knew, perhaps the lack of a sire in her life didn’t bother her much and she would have gone one perfectly fine if her sire had never shown up.

Strongarm looked curiously over the elevated path they took over a busy street, stopping every few moments to look at the pedestrians below their level before Magnus had to gently yank her away and get her back on track.

“Carrier? What did he want?”

_Primus, how do I do this?_

“It is a somewhat private matter for now. I need to inform you of some things before I can tell you what it was that I had to talk to him about.”

“Oh.”

Thankfully the youngling stopped her questioning the rest of the way back to their home, toddling aside Magnus as he held onto her servo. When they reached home, Strongarm let go of her carrier’s servo and headed for her room, but Magnus cleared his vocalizer. The noise caught the youngling’s attention, and she turned to face him.

“Come with me to the common room. I need to speak to you.”

The femme followed him and sat next to him on the long seat, placing her servos on her knees and looking up at him with an inquisitive stare.

“Strongarm, you are aware of the fact that for as long as you and been online, it has always been only you and I.”

She nodded.

“I know you have noticed that a number of other younglings have two creators in their lives, instead of just one as you have.”

Strongarm looked down at her servos and swung her legs once, twice, before she stopped and nodded. “Yeah I have. Are you gonna tell me about sire?”

Even though he had been warned to expect this, Magnus was still taken aback. However, he knew that since he had already initiated the discussion, there was no back tracking to be done.

“I wanna know, carrier. How come my sire has never been around?”

The mech had to carefully choose his words, moreso this time around than any time previously. Little blue optics looked at him curiously, expecting a black or white answer that he couldn’t give.

“You have to know that while I wanted dearly for your sire’s and my relationship to become something official, we didn’t get a chance to progress beyond him and I confessing our deeply held feelings for each other before he left me.”

“Why did he leave you and me?” A cross expression came over the youngling’s faceplates.

“He decided that what he wished to do was to help others. Your sire left to help many of the mechs and femmes that you pass by on the streets with me find their way back to Cybertron.”

“But… why did he leave? Didn’t he want to be with you and me?”

It was then that regret hit Magnus. He really should have spent the past few stellar cycles thinking clearer answers to all the questions that his daughter was asking. He simply stared at her, looked into her bright blue optics, and said, “I am not sure that he wanted to be with me. I still do not know. But he did not know about you, Strongarm. He had no idea that you existed.”

Confusion came over the femme’s faceplates. She looked offended as she took air into her intakes then let the air out in a rush. “How come he didn’t know about me?”

“He left before I knew I was carrying you.”

“So sire didn’t know about me?”

“No. He didn’t, Strongarm.”

The femme looked again at her knees, optic ridges furrowed, giving her face a look of annoyance.

Magnus’s communication line pinged insistently at him. He closed his optics and answered the mech at the other end.

::How’s it going with the sparklin’?::

::Not as well as I would have hoped, Wheeljack::

::I’m sorry. Woulda made this a lot easier on you if I hadn’t left in the first place::

::There is nothing you can do about that now, Wheeljack. It is in the past and it cannot be fixed. And her name is Strongarm, Wheeljack. You will not refer to her simply as “sparkling” or even as “youngling”::

::Sorry. It’s just… I forgot her name when you said it and I felt weird saying “our daughter”::

“Carrier?” Strongarm tilted her helm at Magnus and narrowed her optics at him. “Carrier, are you talking to someone?”

::She caught you?::

“I am, Strongarm::

“Are you talking to sire?”

“Yes.”

::Frag Magnus, I was hoping to tell her myself::

“I doubt she would take kindly to the revelation from someone other than myself, Wheeljack.”

_“Wheeljack?”_

Magnus should not have tried to keep track of two conversations at once. He immediately blocked Wheeljack’s side of the communication link and drew Strongarm into his arms. It was then that he noticed that Strongarm was not being as receptive to his show of affection as she normally would be. The mech told himself to keep calm and to continue speaking to her in as even a tone he could muster.

“Wheeljack, the mech you saw in my office when you came in for me, is your sire.”

Her blue optics widened. And Magnus noticed that she had blocked her spark from relaying her emotions to his.

Strongarm said nothing for a while, the silence stretching out into many eons that Magnus spent waiting for some type of a reaction to the news.

The insistent pinging resumed, and Magnus answered it during the tense quiet.

::Mags, where’s your location?::

The blue and red mech wordlessly broadcast his location to the white-armored Wrecker, along with the security code to enter the domicile. All too soon there were the sounds of digits poking at the keypad and of the door sliding open. Strongarm tore her gaze from her carrier to the mech that slowly stepped over the threshold.

Magnus noticed how she laid her optics on Wheeljack’s helm fins, and how a moment later she raised her own servo to run the digits over the fins sticking out of her helm.

Sire and youngling stared at each other. Wheeljack had his blades slung over his back, and he tossed them onto the floor beside him to allow him to kneel where he was.

Magnus made a note to force Wheeljack to pick up after himself when this was over with. He cleared his vocalizer and nodded at the white-armored Wrecker across the room. “I’m glad you made your way here, Wheeljack.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t there for a lot of things Mags. I figure I better be here startin’ now.” Wheeljack looked back at the youngling whose large blue optics peered at him intensely from her place by Ultra Magnus. He blinked at her and a small smile found itself creeping across his faceplates.

Primus, she was a cute sparkling. Part of him felt there was no way he could ever have had a servo in creating something so cute, with large blue optics that scanned him warily, but deep in his spark he knew that Magnus was telling the truth. This was their sparkling.

“Hey Strongarm.” The white-armored mech held a servo out toward the youngling. “Hey.”

The large, bright optics grew slightly dimmer.

“Hey. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the first couple stellar cycles of your life. Wasn’t there ‘til now, period. I want that to change, though.” He stopped and waited a few moments, waited and watched for any reaction from the small white and blue colored femme. When there was none, he lowered his servo. His spark sank a little, but he still kept the smile on his faceplates. “My name’s Wheeljack. I’m your sire.”

Strongarm stared at the mech for a moment longer. Then she slid out of Magnus’s grip, off the long seat, and went up to Wheeljack with a no-nonsense air about her.

She looked into his optics, and Wheeljack noticed that they looked much like his.

She was definitely his youngling.

He wanted to curl an arm around her, draw her into his chassis, but then she turned and walked away from the common room.

Both mechs heard the sound of a door sliding shut not too long after.


	4. Chapter 4

“Where were you during this time?”

“Went and took off, sped around in the outskirts of Iacon to clear my processor an’ all. Couldn’t speed around in the city limits. ‘s how I was able to get here so quick.”

Wheeljack put his helm against the wall and sighed, feeling the other mech’s optics boring into his soul. He laughed quietly and placed a servo over his optics. “Yeah. That didn’ go as well as I’d wanted it to.”

“No, it didn’t. I had hoped it would go a lot better than how it did.”

The white armored mech straightened his posture and looked at Ultra Magnus across the room, at those blue optics looking directly at him. Wheeljack drummed his digits against the armrest of the seat he was in. “My fault. I know it is.”

“Don’t blame yourself completely, Wheeljack. I am at fault as well.”

“Oh really? How do you figure that?”

“I have had the entirety of her life to rehearse what to say to her when the topic of her sire was eventually discussed.” Magnus brought his servo up to his forehelm, exventing heavily. “I clearly remember I was lying in berth, after giving birth to Strongarm, when Ratchet told me that it would be in both mine and her best interests that I know what to say before Strongarm would bring up the subject of you.”

“Suppose my sudden leavin’ didn’t help matters.”

“No. I thought you were never going to return to Cybertron, Wheeljack. A part of me thought that I might be long gone and Strongarm more grown before you would return. I am not certain why. But as a result I was not as prepared for this talk as I should have been. Primus,” Magnus moved his servo away and stared at the floor, “I should have taken Ratchet’s advice.”

Both mechs sat in silence in the common room for a long while. Magnus couldn’t hear anything from Strongarm’s room. She had likely gone to recharge by now, too overwhelmed by the day’s events and undoubtedly still trying to come to terms with her newfound knowledge.

“Well, there’s nothin’ more that you can do ‘bout it. Already done. You played your part and more, Mags. I have to make it up to her, somehow.”

“How do you intend to “make it up to her” as you mentioned?”

“I… don’t know. I’ll have to think on that.”

Magnus sighed and straightened his posture, crossing his arms over his broad chassis. “Wheeljack, I think it might in all of our best interests if I make an attempt to remedy this. Strongarm was clearly upset with me, and she did not seem at all interested in making contact with you. I will need to talk to her.”

“Right. I suppose I’ll just… leave.”

“No,” Magnus said before he could help himself. He thought of the layout of the domicile. “There is a spare study room connected to my berthroom. In the closet is a fold-away berth. You are more than welcome to stay here, Wheeljack.”

“You sure? I don’t want to… y’know, overstep my boundaries and all.”

“Just go to the room before I change my processor, Wheeljack.”

“There’s the Mags I know.” Wheeljack half-mockingly saluted the blue and red mech before he walked down the hallway. A moment later, he backed up and looked at Magnus, confused expression on his faceplates. “Right or…”

“The second room to your left is the study.”

“Right.” Wheeljack disappeared out of sight, leaving Magnus alone in the common room.

At the sound of the doors closing behind Wheeljack, Magnus got to his pedes and looked around the common room, noting that Strongarm had left some datapads and a small, soft mesh toy in a corner. He walked over and picked them up, putting the datapads in a neat pile on a corner table and holding the mesh toy in his servo as he brought it up to his optics.

The mesh toy was that of a scraplet, but instead of the usual silvery hue of color that noted that it was a wild scraplet that tore Cybertronians to shreds to feed themselves, it was a dark grey color that noted that it was a scraplet that had had its dentae ripped out so they could not eat a Cybertronian.

A barbarious practice, Magnus thought, but it was better to control the pest population. He had no idea why he had bought this little mesh toy for Strongarm. Then he remembered that Strongarm had pleaded with him for the object. She had liked the large blue optics.

And it had been in the only toy available at the time. He was certain a mesh Predacon toy would have been out by now, ready to buy for sparklings and younglings. 

He held the scraplet toy to his chassis as he walked down the hallway and came to Strongarm’s room, the first one to the right. Upon inputting the passcode override he’d installed, the doors slid open to reveal a line of datapads and toys at the entrance, the faces of each toy turned towards him.

Magnus held back the urge to laugh, memories of the time Strongarm had been mad that he had chastised her for getting away from Bulkhead and Arcee and running out into the streets of Iacon as she looked for him. He stepped over the objects so clearly meant to block him from entering and headed for the berth that held his daughter’s little frame. 

Strongarm was deep in recharge, curled up on the berth with her knees partway to her chassis and one arm folded underneath her helm, the other stretched outward. Magnus couldn’t help himself, and he set the plush toy near her helm as he gently moved her around so she was not so contorted in her sleep, stretching her legs out and straightening her spinal strut. 

The young femme let herself be maneuvered, not waking and only emitting small, sleepy noises of protest.

When her frame was not so contorted, Magnus placed the scraplet toy under her outstretched arm. Strongarm’s arm immediately curled around the toy and she brought it to her chassis.

He wanted to tell the little femme that he was sorry for not being more prepared, but he couldn’t do so. Not at this time at least. He leaned over and lightly brushed his lipplates against the chevron that adorned her helm.

Strongarm yawned and shifted around in the berth, loosening her grip on the toy.

Ultra Magnus turned to walk out to his own berthroom and saw a white-armored mech standing in the doorway, looking down curiously at the toy line of defense on the floor. He looked at the other mech and blinked his optics at Magnus. The red and blue mech stepped over the toys, coming face to face with Wheeljack. Though he did not mean it, his expression must have seemed very threatening to the Wrecker, as the smaller mech shuffled his pedes and, in a low tone, said, “Just wanted to see her.”

“Don’t dare cross her barricade.”

“Wasn’ plannin’ on it.” 

“Good.” Magnus closed the door behind him. “I was under the impression that you were ready to recharge.”

“I was, until I heard this door openin’ and wanted to see what you were up to.”

“Wheeljack,” Magnus pointed to the door leading to the study, “I am going to recharge. So I highly suggest that you do the same as well.”

“Right. Fine.” Wheeljack sighed and entered the room set aside for him.

Magnus entered his own berthroom and laid down on the berth, staring up at the ceiling with his servos joined over his spark. His processor was still trying to comprehend the events of the solar cycle. In the span of one solar cycle the mech that had sired his daughter had come back. They had fought, then they had made up. They had tried to tell their daughter about her sire, and butchered the revelation in such a fantastic manner.

And now Wheeljack, who had been absent from Cybertron for longer than it had been revived, was settling in for recharge in the next room.

So preoccupied with his thoughts was the blue and red mech that he didn’t notice the door that connected his berthroom and his study open until he heard the sound of Wheeljack clearing his vocalizer. He turned his helm to the side and looked at the white-armored mech standing in the doorway.

“I thought I told you to go to recharge, Wheeljack.”

“Didn’t tell me. More like you suggested. But, I’m not tired.”

Magnus only stared hard at the Wrecker. Wheeljack looked down at his pedes and shuffled them, the fins on his helm twitching minutely. 

“Is there a purpose as to why you are standing in the doorway between my berthroom and the study?”

“No. Yes. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

The look on the Wrecker’s face, one of anxiousness, made the mech sigh. He sat up on the berth and waved Wheeljack over, watching as the smaller bot sat on the edge of the berth next to him.

“What questions do you have, Wheeljack? And for the love of Primus, please make them quick.”

He seemed to mull over whether or not he really should ask the questions, before deciding that he had nothing to lose. Wheeljack cleared his vocalizer. “What was it like? Carryin’ while you were alone?”

Magnus was aware of his servo coming to rest over his chassis, drawing circles over the armor. He realized that this was the same action he did when he was carrying Strongarm. When her spark grew restless, bouncing around in the field of his spark, he did these very motions to calm her down.

Even as a sparkling, when she was crying loudly, it only took light touches circling over her spark or back to quiet her down.

Closing his optics, Magnus sighed heavily. “I had Strongarm there with me. Though she could not respond to me, I still would speak to her, to familiarize her with my voice and to show that I acknowledged she was there. I did tell her fluttering spark about her sire, and that he was not around.” Magnus could almost felt Wheeljack’s optics widen as they gazed right at him, but he paid them no mind and kept his optics closed as he continued, “Despite the new life growing beside my spark I still felt very alone. You were not here. I am not used to expressing my emotions to others, so I felt that expressing my doubts and worries about carrying to the others was out of the question.”

Wheeljack couldn’t help himself as he reached a servo out and stroked Magnus’s faceplates. That action got Magnus to open his optics and look at Wheeljack.

The blue mech internally cursed the white mech and his beautiful optics with their unique pattern. Strongarm had inherited her sire’s optics, and each time Strongarm had stared into his optics he felt a longing for Wheeljack. 

“And emergence? How was it?”

“Like nothing I’ve ever felt. I was in excruciating pain when the Predacon crushed my servo under his pede. The pain then pales in comparison to the pain I felt when Strongarm emerged from me. I still remember it was here,” he ran a digit down his front, from his lower chassis to his mid-abdominal plates, “that my frame shifted apart and brought my gestation chamber to the front. After further waiting, the chamber opened and…” Magnus held his left servo up, “her protoform dropped into my waiting servo.”

He could feel the weight of the little frame hanging limply in his servo again.

“Instinct took over my frame, as I parted my chassis and bared my spark. I held the protoform up, and watched as her spark flew into its new home and the protoform changed into a new, fully functioning sparkling. Her optics onlined, and she stared at me in wonder. For the first time her spark was apart from mine… she looked at me as if asking if I was her carrier.”

“How did you react? Finally seein’ her?”

“I cried.”

Wheeljack stared at Magnus. The blue and red mech could tell that it was an incredulous stare, that the mech couldn’t wrap his processor around the idea of Ultra Magnus, the former Commander of the Wreckers, crying.

“I cried in relief that it was over. I cried because she was now given a frame, and I was able to hold her in my arms. And I cried because you were not here to see her birth.”

“Heh. I just can’t imagine you crying.”

“I may be a strict disciplinarian, but I am capable of emotion, Wheeljack.”

The white-armored Wrecker snorted and laughed. “I know. Looked at you before I left, and saw that your optics weren’t exactly happy or neutral, Mags.”

Both mechs stayed quiet, staring at each other. There was something in the air between them that wasn’t quite tension but wasn’t comfort either.

Magnus suddenly got it in his processor that he should kiss the white-armored mech, and he reached a servo up and placed it on the back of Wheeljack’s helm, bringing him down. Their lipplates met.

Wheeljack gripped Magnus’s side with a servo, placing his other one on the back of Magnus’s helm. The action deepened their kiss, and Magnus wrapped his other arm around Wheeljack’s backstrut, his spark reaching out for the other mech’s spark.

But he knew he couldn’t do it. This was one night only. His priority was his daughter, reconciling himself and his daughter, and letting her know her sire on her own terms.

Only if and when she had decided to accept her sire into her life, would he question what he and Wheeljack should do.

There was a small part of him that begged him to do this just for himself. His life for these many stellar cycles had been focused on his daughter and keeping her happy. This would make him happy. He should do something, just once, for himself.

But he refused.

Ultra Magnus pulled back and looked at Wheeljack a moment before he looked away. “I’m going to recharge, Wheeljack. I suggest you do the exact same.”

The white-armored Wrecker looked a bit taken aback, but he dutifully got off the berth, wordlessly going through the open door back to the study and closing the door.

Magnus felt a strange sense of loss, seeing Wheeljack’s backplates retreating. He told himself that this sensation would go away, and he fell into a deep recharge cycle. All his worries about Wheeljack, about Strongarm, and about him could wait for tonight.

He hoped tomorrow would be better.


	5. Chapter 5

Magnus woke up before his internal chronometer was supposed to make him do so. With bleary optics and an aching frame that told his age, he struggled and succeeded in sitting up in the berth. He placed his helm in his servos and sighed quietly, processor going through his agenda for the day.

First on the daily agenda, as always, was to make sure Strongarm was clean and that she had been given her morning ration of energon. After that he would go to his office and make certain that all that he was in charge of for now was running smoothly. He would ask Bumblebee and Smokescreen for reports and check in with Ratchet to make certain that the planet’s only functioning medical center was well stocked.

And he would monitor the skies for further signs of Cybertronians returning from their long exodus. He would monitor the stars for signs of the _Jackhammer_.

It hit him again – the wave of realization that he wouldn’t have to perform that daily ritual any longer. Wheeljack was here.

He got off his berth and quietly walked over to the study room door, slowly opening it and peeking inside.

He was irritated to see that the Wrecker had moved his desk away from the center of the room and up towards a wall, and that he had quite literally just flopped onto the floor. The Wrecker laid on his front, arms and legs spread every which way, and Magnus could have sworn he heard a soft snort.

Then he realized that the white-armored mech had to have gotten accustomed to recharging sans a berth while aboard the _Jackhammer._ Magnus had had enough of lying on the floors of rooms during his time in space, all those eons ago. He had been quite happy to be presented with a berth again.

He closed the door and walked over to his daughter’s room, opening it to find her in very much the same spread out position that her sire had been in.

The way she spread herself out while in recharge was a trait that he had no idea where she’d gotten it from. He slept on his backplates, and almost never moved through the course of the night. The few times he did, he laid partially on his side and curled slightly into himself. Originally he’d had no idea where Strongarm would have learned such a thing, to lay out and take up all the space she could.

It was one more way that she took after her sire.

“Strongarm.”

A tired voice murmured something incomprehensible. The line of toys was still standing guard at her doorway, so he bent down and gathered them up in his arms, walking over to her berth and depositing them on his daughter. Strongarm still didn’t budge, only squirming around to get the toys off.

“Strongarm, it is time for you to wake up.”

The youngling whined and batted at her carrier’s arms as they gripped her and hoisted her off the berth. She was granted some reprieve as her carrier held her in his arms instead and walked them to the sitting room, placing her on the couch. Strongarm immediately laid down and closed her optics, trying to return to recharge.

“Strongarm.”

She whined again. “Five more kliks, carrier.”

“Fine. But only five kliks, no more.”

The youngling made another noise but then curled into herself and nodded off faster than Magnus could blink. He almost felt guilty about waking her up, but she needed to get into the habit of rising at an early hour.

He checked his energon reserves and saw that they weren’t very low, but it was nonetheless a good idea to get energon for himself as well. Magnus opened the door to the energon storage room just around the corner from the common area and grabbed a cube of energon, downing it before he realized that he should have gotten one of Strongarm’s pre-measured portions. He put his cube aside on the shelf and reopened the door to the storage, grabbing a smaller cube, and then a larger one.

Who knew when the last time was that Wheeljack had managed to refuel?

When Magnus closed the door he saw that Wheeljack had snuck up and was standing behind it. The sudden appearance of the white-armored Wrecker gave him a slight shock. However, it was nothing compared to the shock from the previous solar cycle. This time he managed to not drop the cubes in his grip. He shook his helm and held a cube out to the Wrecker.

Wheeljack arched an optical ridge and cleared his vocalizer, amused voice whispering, “Uh, Mags?”

Magnus looked down and realized he was holding the smaller cube out to the fully-grown Wrecker. He switched servos, holding the full size cube out. Wheeljack stared at the cube, then him, then back at the cube before he apparently decided that there was no harm to be had and took it from the blue and red mech’s servo.

It was apparent that Wheeljack hadn’t refilled in quite a while, evidenced by the speed that he guzzled down the blue liquid.

Ultra Magnus peeked at the couch again, looking at Strongarm who was still deep in recharge. One klik. Four more to go until he would rouse her again.

“Put your desk back how it was. Could tell by the way your EM field changed when you peeked in that you didn’t like the state it was in.”

“You were awake?”

“More like a very light recharge.” Wheeljack caught sight of the empty energon cube on the shelf and stuck his next to it. “Keep my processor and engines slow so it can rest, but also keepin’ my sensors on high alert in case of anythin’. Pretty useful for those stellar cycles I spent alone in the _Jackhammer._ I reacted pretty quickly to danger comin’ my way.”

“Impressive. When I spent my stellar cycles aboard the _Iron Will_ I was not able to do such a thing. When I go to recharge, only the loudest alarms can rouse me.”

“Heh, so did Strongarm have a loud cry that could wake you?”

Magnus thought back to his early creatorhood, furrowing his optical ridges together. “No, but she and I are together in creator/creation sparkbond so often, before she had a chance to let out the smallest cry, I was up and tending to her needs.”

“Right. Forgot ‘bout the sparkbond. Pretty nifty, I bet.”

“It has its uses, but there have been times where I wished that she could clamp down on her end of the bond and let me recharge. I am not the most pleasant bot to be around if I do not have my recharge, and unfortunately I do not get the recommended amount of recharge to be in a pleasant mood.”

“So that explains why you’re a pain to be around most of the time.”

Magnus stared hard at the white-armored Wrecker, unsure whether to blow off the insult or smack him upside the helm for it. He settled on trying to make Wheeljack wither under his glare. However, it was not very successful – Wheeljack smirked at him.

Perhaps it was the five-stellar-cycle long absence, but this was the one time Magnus found he couldn’t say mad at the white-armored mech. He sighed and looked at Strongarm on the long seat, her tiny door wings lifted in the air as she had turned around to lie on her front. Her left arm and leg dangled off the edge of the seat.

“She always sleep weird like that?”

“Quite often. It would seem she takes after you.”

“Really? Nah, she can-”

“I walked into my study this morning to find a pile of Wrecker strewn out on the ground in the most unprofessional manner. I know for a fact I don’t sleep in that manner. I had been wondering for the past few stellar cycles as to where Strongarm would have learned such a thing, but it is apparent that she inherited it from you.”

“When I woke up I was curled in a ball, Mags.”

Magnus responded by sending Wheeljack an image capture of the scene in the study in the morning. The white-armored mech responded with a soft “Oh” and didn’t press the issue further.

Both mechs stood and looked at the little femme sleeping on the seat. Her dangling servo clenched and unclenched, making it seem as if she were trying to hold onto something that wasn’t there.

Clearing his vocalizer, Ultra Magnus asked the Wrecker, “You mentioned that you wanted to get to know Strongarm, and “make it up to her” as you said. Did you think on how you might do that?”

Wheeljack, who didn’t turn his gaze away from the tiny femme as he was still wondering if he was dreaming that he was a sire, cleared his vocalizer as well. “You mentioned that you were gonna… y’know, try and reconcile her and you before you let me try and get to know her.”

“I did. What is your question behind this?”

“I was gonna say that after you’re done doin’ what you need to do, I’d like to take her out around Iacon. Haven’t been here to see everythin’ get rebuilt and all.”

“I would appreciate that. She gets restless in the care of the others in command headquarters and I would appreciate a less-distracted work solar cycle.”

““Less-distracted”?”

“Strongarm has a tendency to escape from her caregivers’ watchful optics and show up at my office door, pounding her fists and begging for me to let her in. So if she is away from headquarters I might get most of my work done for the solar cycle.”

“Right.”

At that instant, Strongarm’s optics opened. They watched her optics focus and come to rest on the strange form beside her carrier. She didn’t react except to slightly narrow her optics at the white mech.

Magnus quickly seized the moment and took the small energon cube to his daughter, making sure she drank it before he started. “How are you faring, Strongarm?”

The femme didn’t answer immediately. She stayed staring at Wheeljack, occasionally blinking her optics. “‘m fine carrier,” she mumbled, holding the cube to her carrier. “Done.”

Magnus looked at Wheeljack and stared at him. The white-armored mech held his servos out in a questioning motion, tilting his helm to the side and mouthing “ _what?”_ Ultra Magnus responded by pointing at the hallway, out of sight.

Wheeljack took the hint and ducked away.

Magnus waited a moment before turning back to his daughter. “Strongarm, look at me.”

The femme’s optics had been trained on the other mech and looked at the empty space where he had been standing. She looked at her carrier and blinked her optics at him.

He was no more prepared for this than he had been the solar cycle before. Still, he continued, “He is regretful that he was not here before the previous cycle to see you, Strongarm. And I am sorry that I did not tell you about him previously – it is my fault, and I am sorry that you had to learn about your sire in such a manner.” He looked down at the little femme’s servos that were clutching the edge of the seat and put one of his servos over the closest one. She didn’t flinch back or try to move her servo away from his, which he felt was a positive sign. “Wheeljack would like to make it up to you.”

“How?”

It dawned on the blue and red mech that Wheeljack had not told him how he would do so. _Primus help_ him and Wheeljack if he turned out to be wrong. Mostly Wheeljack, for if he broke his daughter’s spark he would have the white-armored Wrecker’s helm. “He wants to be here for you. He did not get a chance to know you and to be here for you up until now. But only if you will let him.”

He hoped he was doing well in allowing the young femme to have a say in the matter. Thinking on the datapads on sparkling development he had read before, he supposed he was.

“Still mad that he made you get sad, carrier.”

“I have forgiven him for that.”

Strongarm crossed her arms over her chassis and pursed her lipplates. It was a tense few moments of anticipation until she sighed that cute little youngling sigh. “I guess I forgive him too.”

“I am glad for that.” Magnus had been kneeling by the seat on one knee, and just now he realized it was hurting quite a bit. He shifted his stance to kneeling on the other knee but found it was little better. Still, he continued, “Does this mean that you will give him a chance?”

The femme thought further a moment, then nodded.

.-.-.

The Crystal Gardens of Iacon had been destroyed by the Decepticons just before the Great Exodus. Of all the things in Iacon that had been caught up in the wave of destruction, the gleaming and beautiful Crystal Garden was the one that the Iaconian-native Autobots were most upset about. Even those not from Iacon were saddened by the loss of the colorful crystals that grew so large that they scraped against the sky.

It seemed that the millions of stellar cycles spent off-world had been kind to the remnants of the Gardens. The crystals were now large again, gleaming brilliantly.

He hadn’t grown up in Iacon. Far from it, in fact, but when he had initially set pede in the city that had been taken as the Autobot stronghold he had marveled at the sight of the colorful skyscrapers.

“I’ve been here before.”

“Really?”

“Carrier takes me here.”

“Heh, and here I thought he wouldn’t be bringin’ you here much. Never thought he’d be the kind to bring you to places like this. I just wanted to see them, haven’t seen them in a while. We can leave right after.”

Strongarm toddled alongside him, little legs struggling to keep up with his longer legs and longer strides, which meant he had to slow down his pace to let her catch up. He had held his servo out to her, offering to take her servo in his, but in response she put her servos behind her backplates while looking up at him with the most innocent look she could muster.

He didn’t want to push it. She was already doing him a favor, giving him a chance.

“No, we can stay if you wanna.”

A compromising mini-Magnus? Perhaps she wasn’t such a mini after all.

“There anywhere you want to go?”

The youngling was quick in shaking her helm. Truthfully she wanted to go with her carrier, but he had given her over to this mech that was her sire and said that she would be going with him for the day.

 _“I will be on the other end of our communication link, Strongarm, should you be in need of anything,”_ he had said while giving the white mech a look that Strongarm knew from prior experience, showed that he meant business.

“No. I like the Gardens.”

She was too agreeable, he thought. It could be a sign that she didn’t care for him, and she might be expressing it in a different manner than how Magnus had initially expressed his distaste for him. He decided that he wouldn’t press this issue either.

The Garden was occupied by a few other bots strolling through. He was unnerved by the gazes of the others in his direction, until he realized their gazes were a little bit more towards his hips and thigh area and to his side. Strongarm pressed herself closer to him but didn’t take his servo into hers like he had offered before.

“Don’t like the starin’?”

“No. I don’t like it. Always when I come out.”

Thankfully the other bots left the vicinity after staring at Strongarm with “that’s a sparkling!” expressions on their faceplates. Wheeljack turned his attention to a cluster of crystals colored blue, green, and a rich shade of white.

“Lot shinier than I remember them bein’. Then again I haven’t seen them in millions of stellar cycles.”

“Millions?” That caught the youngling’s attention, and she looked up at the white-armored mech with wide optics. “Millions of stellar cycles? That’s how old carrier is too.”

“Yeah. Saw Cybertron before, when it was full of life. Did your carrier ever tell you about how Cybertron was before?”

“A teeny bit. He told me that there were a lot of bots around then, a lot, lot more than there are now. I’m happy there aren’t a lot though, ‘cause then that would mean I would get a lot more stares.”

Wheeljack thought otherwise – more bots meant more sparklings, and Strongarm would only be one in a sea of many. He didn’t tell her that, however.

He was an aft in personality, but not to little ones, and especially to little ones that were related to him.

“He tell ya anything else?”

Strongarm ran her servos along the smooth surface of a bright yellow crystal in a nearby cluster. “No. Carrier doesn’ really talk a lot about that stuff.”

“What’s he talk to you ‘bout then?”

“He gets mad at me for always going to go look for him when I’m supposed ta have Ratchet or Bee or Smokey takin’ care of me.”

“Aww, I’m sure he appreciates that you love him that much.”

Strongarm didn’t say anything further, only running her servos along the next crystal, one colored pink.

“So,” Wheeljack placed his servos behind his back, mulling over the words in his processor before he said them aloud, “I know I upset ya when I got mad at your carrier like that. Just, wanted to ask if you’d accept my apology for doin’ that to him.”

The femme looked at him and blinked, nodding once.

“Oh. Thanks. It means a lot to me. So,” he knelt down to youngling-level as best as he was able to, “I know I can’t make up all the stellar cycles I wasn’ here with you and your carrier. I know your carrier told me already but I wanna hear it right from you. Are you gonna be alright lettin’ me in your life, try to make up for what I missed?”

Strongarm turned around to face him and placed her servos on her hips. The sudden movement startled the Wrecker, but then he saw that her optics were hesitant and not at all hostile. “I’m only okay with it if you don’t hurt me or carrier again.”

“I won’t.”

She blinked at him. “Do ya promise?”

Wheeljack nodded and held a servo out to the little femme. “I promise.”

“‘m gonna hold ya to that.” She placed her little servo in his.

The action and the feel of her servo in his, the fact that she was placing her trust in him (albeit hesitantly) made his spark soar. He smiled and tried to lift her off the ground to carry her in his arms but was quickly met with her tugging her servo out of his grip and backing up. Her optics flashed as she glared at him; in that glare, he saw Magnus. If he weren’t kneeling, he would have withered and sat down at a nearby bench.

“No!”

“Ahh,” Wheeljack placed his servos over his faceplates and sighed, spark heavy. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I got ahead of myself.”

Strongarm held her servo to her chassis and glared at him a few moments more before she decided to let her guard down again. She lowered her servo and walked up to him, placing a servo on his bent knee that faced her.

He removed his servos from his faceplates and looked at her. Only when she gave him a wan smile did he smile at her too.

“Don’t really like bein’ carried ‘cept by carrier. Gotta know that about me.”

“Heh. I’ll keep that in processor for next time. So,” he stood back up and offered his servo to her, glad when she placed hers in his palm, “there anywhere else ya wanted to go?”

A mischievous look came across the youngling’s faceplates – he knew she did not get that look from Ultra Magnus. “There’s a market nearby. Carrier and I go a lot.”

Both walked out of the Garden, servo in servo. “He get you anything from there?”

“He _always_ gets me a pack of sweet rust sticks!”

::Mags:: Wheeljack said over the communication link he had opened, without Strongarm’s knowledge ::you hear that?::

::I did, and I absolutely _do not_ get her an entire pack of sweet rust sticks::

::Still want to get her somethin’::

A long-suffering sigh came from the other end of the link. ::She may have one. But no more than that::

::Aww, but why don’t ya let her? ‘s only four to a pack-::

::You have not seen her when she gets hyperactive on an entire pack of them. I was witness to it once, and dealt with the aftermath. Never again::

::I-::

::If you decide to purchase her an entire pack and let her eat them, you will be the one stuck with the duty of cleaning up whatever messes she’s created::

Wheeljack looked down at the femme walking alongside him. ::Fine::

Magnus cut off the link and Wheeljack spoke to Strongarm. “I’ll get you your rust stick, then we’ll go bug your carrier later, alright? What do ya say to that?”

Strongarm nodded and smiled. “So… what was it like being up in space?”

“Ah, you really wanna know? Well, there was the time that I came across a horde of feral Star-Eaters.”

“Star-Eaters? Wha’s that?”

Wheeljack feigned surprise. “You mean you don’t know what a Star-Eater is?”

Strongarm shook her helm in the negative.

“Ah, do I have a lot of stories for you.”

Wheeljack was happy to see that the femme looked excited at the prospect of stories. He would have no shortage of them to tell to her.

.-.-.

“I think she had fun. She was happy I got her that other toy.”

“Her absence allowed me plenty of time to finish what I needed to.” Magnus looked away from Strongarm’s tuckered out form splayed out on the berth, her chassis rising up and down in her recharge and clutching two mesh toy Scraplets to her frame, and looked at Wheeljack. The white-armored mech didn’t meet his gaze, still staring at the form of the young femme – his daughter – deep in sleep. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” Wheeljack brought a servo to his faceplates and closed his optics, pressing his thumb and fore-digit against the optical lids. “Long as she enjoyed the day, I did too. Suppose I’ll get going. Want me to take her out again tomorrow?”

“Yes. And, Wheeljack… your invitation to stay has been extended.”

“Oh?” The white-armored mech visibly brightened. “This mean that I can sleep in your berth with you?”

Magnus gave the other mech a deadpan stare. “Say that again and I will rescind the offer.”

_“Fine.”_

Magnus watched Wheeljack walk off to the study, then remembered something. “Wheeljack?”

The white-armored mech looked at him. Magnus recognized the hopeful expression in his optics.

“Move the desk away from its previous position, and I will have your helm.”

“Heh. And here I thought you were gonna profess your love for me.”

“As I have said, Strongarm comes first. We will revisit the matter of us much later.”

“Suppose that’s fair.”

Magnus watched the mech’s back retreat into the darkness of the study, and felt his spark tug in Wheeljack’s general direction.

Maybe… just maybe…

.-.-.

The next morning the door opened and she felt arms pick her up. She protested tiredly (Primus how she _hated_ being carried by this bot that _was definitely not_ carrier) and opened her optics a small crack, seeing a mech with fins sticking out of the sides of his helm carting her to her carrier’s room.

“‘m tired. Lemme alone,” she yawned.

“Sorry kid,” a lively voice replied, “your carrier wants us with him for a bit, ‘fore he leaves.”

When she was placed on her carrier’s chassis she curled up into his familiar embrace, smiling when she detected the faint pulses of his spark that pulsed in sync with hers.

Strongarm didn’t question why Wheeljack had been in her carrier’s berthroom. But stellar cycles later she would realize that that solar cycle marked the first time she picked up traces of her sire's spark signature mingling with her carrier's familiar one.

And it certainly wouldn’t be the last time she would sense it.


End file.
